


Respite

by introductory



Series: canon compliant [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: "You guys take some cots into the next room," Noct says at last.  "Except you, Specs.  You and I need to come up with a plan."Ignis gives a soft, surprised little laugh.  "If it please Your Highness," he says, and the use of Noct's old title makes Gladio's heart skip a beat.  If he'd closed his eyes it could be fifteen years ago, Noct taking Ignis by the sleeve and absconding with him onofficial business, straight-faced and serious like like it wasn't blatantly obvious what the two of them were planning on doing, like Noct hasn't been dragging Ignis into darkened corridors and empty rooms since Gladio was old enough to wear his family's crest.





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> For [Ignoct Week 2018](http://ignoctweek.tumblr.com), timed quest #4 ("strategy meetings"). A million thanks to [Lita](http://marmolita.tumblr.com) for the read-through!
> 
> Based on the updated resting dialogue and set right after battling Ifrit in chapter 14. I believe Noct should technically be addressed as _Your Majesty_ , seeing as he's king, but I'm going to posit Ignis did it on purpose because there's no way he would make that kind of mistake.
> 
> [Writing soundtrack: [Shimomura Yoko - Somnus (Instrumental)](https://youtube.com/watch?v=c0vTVlx_Grs), obviously.]

Even without Ignis pointing it out, it's clear they'll need to rest one final time. It simply isn't an option to continue without at least a few hours of sleep, not after the arduous task of fighting their way into the Citadel, but they're hard-pressed to find a proper place for it, and even Gladio is starting to tire. The four of them have been through hallway after hallway, opened room after room, and all they've found are the remnants of a life long gone. Every room not filled with personal memories bears the mark of someone else's presence: they've already had to pass on the Kingsglaive barracks and the groundskeepers' quarters. Not that any of the occupants are still around to mind, but no one's particularly keen on sleeping on sheets still rumpled from a decade prior, underneath handwritten postcards from Vesperpool and photographs of chubby-cheeked nieces and nephews; judging from the textbooks and the posters on the walls, some of the occupants were just kids themselves, no older than the four of them were when they left. 

Gladio knows better than to hope they all made it out to Lestallum. Fists clenched, he follows Noct through yet another door; none of them have ever had cause to be in the servants' wing before, but it doesn't stop the nostalgia that tears at his heart, berating and bleeding him in equal measure. The place is wrecked, the air thick with dust and the weight of their collective grief, and Gladio knows when Noct's seen the crib in the center of the room by the small gasp he makes before turning and pushing past him, cloak leaving eddies of stale air in its wake.

It's a shame they don't have the tent any more, but they'd left the whole setup behind to make space for more curatives; they can always come back for it if they survive, and if they don't, well -- they won't be needing it anyway.

"Perhaps we should return to the galleries," Ignis suggests some time later. "I seem to recall finding Noct asleep in front of the artworks on many an occasion."

"No, those were just benches," Noct says. " _Not_ comfortable. At all."

"Yeah, this is the guy who can fall asleep anywhere, remember?" says Prompto, laughing, and Gladio should have expected the sudden mental image of Noct asleep in the backseat of his father's Regalia, mouth half-open as the four of them bumped their way across the rocky terrain and Prompto flicked balled-up pieces of napkin into Noct's mouth until Ignis made him stop. They're down to their last few curatives, and those need to be preserved as long as possible; just because Noct can sleep through anything doesn't mean the rest of them can, and going up against Ardyn like this is only going to result in failure. Gladio's had enough of that to last him a lifetime and then some.

"Let's try the next floor," says Ignis. "Come."

The elevator might have taken them up, but it won't take them back down. They make their way down a flight of stairs, then another, then another. The third floor they hit is nothing but formal meeting space, and by this point even the long stateroom tables look inviting -- at least they're horizontal. They're running themselves more ragged than if they'd just slept on the floor outside the throne room, but Noct keeps forging on ahead, throwing open door after door, and no one's particularly keen on stopping him, either.

"I vote we just get some chairs," Prompto says, thirty fruitless minutes later. "Put our jackets on top -- like a blanket fort, you know?"

"A blanket fort?" says Noct, incredulous, and Ignis, like he's legally obligated to be a buzzkill, says, "I believe that would fall under the auspice of _desecrating the uniform_ ," even though anyone who might have taken them to task for it has been dead for years, and turns to Gladio, eyebrows raised as if waiting for him to agree.

"You need a blanket for a blanket fort," says Gladio. He carefully doesn't picture his childhood home and the hazy quality of the afternoon sun as it filtered through their family's biggest blanket, Gladio and his sister curled up side-by-side in the one place Iris's monsters couldn't reach them. The looters haven't ravaged Insomnia the way they've scavenged every bit of useful tech and scrap of clothing from the ruins of what used to be Galdin and Old Lestallum, but even if their house was miraculously still intact Gladio doesn't think he could get past the front door. He clears his throat. "Pillows, too. Otherwise it's just a tent -- and a shitty one at that."

" _You_ could be my pillow," says Prompto. "What d'ya say, big guy?"

His grin's a little too bright, his eyes exaggeratedly wide, and Gladio shouldn't humor him but he barks out a laugh anyway when he overhears Noct snort. Nothing ever fails to amuse him, even now; Gladio's not going to be the one to take that away from him.

More barracks, more dorms; storerooms filled with office supplies and toilet paper; an entire floor of nothing but electrical closets, one after the other. Finally they stumble, almost literally, on a tiny breakroom neither Noct nor Ignis knew existed; the narrow cots don't look all too comfortable but they're still _beds_ , and a quick raid on the first-aid kit nets them all the curatives they can carry. The futon in the back looks like heaven, but they all know it's going to go to Noct.

Gladio's breathing a little easier, now, and he knows it isn't just the potion. Beside him Ignis is wrapping strips of gauze around Prompto's bicep; Gladio doesn't have eyes on Noct, but he knows he's there across the room, watching the three of them like a hawk. Probably gearing up to say something inspiring; if it's anything like his fond farewell back at the camp, it won't be much.

"You guys take some cots into the next room," Noct says at last. "Except you, Specs. You and I need to come up with a plan."

Ignis gives a soft, surprised little laugh. "If it please Your Highness," he says, and the use of Noct's old title makes Gladio's heart skip a beat. If he'd closed his eyes it could be fifteen years ago, Noct taking Ignis by the sleeve and absconding with him on _official business_ , straight-faced and serious like like it wasn't blatantly obvious what the two of them were planning on doing, like Noct hasn't been dragging Ignis into darkened corridors and empty rooms since Gladio was old enough to wear his family's crest. It was never much of a secret, at least not between the three of them, and when Prompto showed up he learned the hard way that when Noct said he had _plans with Specs_ he really meant they were screwing each other's brains out on the living room couch, but he rolled with it, like any good friend would, and in the present he's elbowing Noct in the side and grinning like he isn't a dead man walking. 

"Try to get some rest in the middle of all that," he says. "You know. Since we've still got a Scourge to banish and all."

Noct grins back. "If by 'rest' you mean 'knocking out between rounds', I'd say we can probably go at least three. What do you think, Ignis?"

"I think it's rather indecent to be discussing this in the open." 

"Suit yourself," says Noct, and sets about lowering the futon. Prompto gives him and Ignis a final thumbs-up before maneuvering one of the cots out into the hallway and dragging it down the way they came, the metal frame screeching along the marble. Gladio folds up the second cot and tucks it under his arm, because he's not an idiot, and turns to go, but not before catching Ignis by the elbow.

"Help me out with this, will you?" he says. It's an even flimsier pretext than Noct's. "C'mon."

They've tried their best to give the two of them some space, even packed a second tent in the Armiger at Prompto's suggestion, but Ignis had fussed about taking up valuable space for curatives and Noct hadn't stopped him from leaving it behind. Inside the tent that night the divider stayed open, the four of them bundled into a mess of blankets and Gladio's arm flung across Noct's chest, too grateful for the contact to feel bad about it for more than a second. 

The second night went like the first, and on the third night Gladio's conscience caught up with him and he sat by the fire making small talk with Prompto, their backs turned to where Noct and Ignis were standing in the distance, just feet from the edge of the cliff. There was dirt on Noct's knees when they came back and tear-tracks on both of their faces; Gladio carefully didn't notice those, either. After all, he'd spent every last night before a hunt making love to his girl, reassuring her he'd come back despite the odds, and if anyone knew the math it was her. So yeah, he gets it. He wishes he didn't, but he does.

"Hey, Iggy," he says, when they're back at the breakroom. "Hold up."

"Yes?"

Gladio reaches out, slips a small drawstring pouch into Ignis's hand. Not that he was expecting to get laid on this trip, and not that Ignis is ever unprepared, but -- just in case. "Here. Take your time."

Ignis's cheeks go pink beneath his visor. "Thank you," he says, curling his fingers around the pouch. "I . . . thank you."

"I mean it," says Gladio, a strange selfishness welling up inside of him like the rising of the tides. Here, now that Noct is on the verge of fulfilling his duty, Gladio can't help wishing for anything but; it'd be just fine with him if Noct and Ignis went into the room and never came out, so long as Noct was alive. Self-serving of him, maybe, but it's the truth. "The world's been waiting this long for His Majesty to get back -- think they can wait a little longer."

"Perhaps," says Ignis, expression already a little distant, two steps ahead of everyone else -- probably weighing the pros and cons of blowjobs vs. fucking vs. whatever else the two of them get up to in the bedroom. Or maybe even something new; after all, it's not like they're ever gonna get another chance. "Gladio . . . "

"Go." Gladio pushes him towards the room. This is a duty only Ignis can perform, and Gladio trusts him to give it his all. "Make it good, Iggy."

Ignis stands, one hand clenched around the pouch. "I'll do my best," he says, bowing his head, and then he's ducking into the room. Noct's voice floats out into the hallway, but Gladio doesn't stay to listen: the words aren't for him, anyway. He closes the door, takes a breath. Takes one step, and then another, until he can't hear anything else besides Prompto's quiet snores.

**Author's Note:**

> Gladio's mystery girl is Sania, don't @ me. 
> 
> Tumblr: [@getintherobot](http://getintherobot.tumblr.com).


End file.
